


Happy Birthday, Bruce

by DaftPunk_DeLorean



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Fluff, Birthday Presents, Fluff, Hand Feeding, Happy Bruce, Kissing, M/M, nothing but fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 10:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9651896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaftPunk_DeLorean/pseuds/DaftPunk_DeLorean
Summary: In which it's Bruce's birthday, and all of his friends and Tony shower him with love and presents, and make him feel wonderful and happy and loved and everyone has an amazing day, especially Bruce.In other words, four times Bruce's friends outdid themselves, and one time Tony outdid them all.





	

It was a long time coming, but Bruce could finally say that life was good.

He enjoyed his life now. It was comfortable and warm and quiet, and he liked his quiet days in his quiet office, working in the cheerful sunlight that streamed in the south-facing window. He liked looking at the photos of him and his friends, liked arguing with Jarvis about existential awareness, liked helping the interns and research teams implement his projects. But most of all, he loved when Tony would come flop on his couch and read or pester him or nap, or even better, lock the door and drag him onto the couch for “a little R&R,” as Tony called it.

Today was really no different, except the sky outside was steely grey and fat flakes of snow floated leisurely to the ground. He had his tea, his research, his music, and despite having worked a lot of extra hours lately on a new project, all was well. 

“Bruce?” Natasha called, knocking lightly on the door to his office on the R&D level. Bruce looked up and smiled, pushing his glasses up and setting his “embarrassingly analog” (Tony’s words) notebook aside. 

“Hey, come in, to what do I owe the lovely interruption?” he asked, standing and giving Natasha a hug. He felt like he hadn’t seen anyone since starting the new project, except maybe a glimpse of Tony now and then as they passed like two ships in the night through their suite. Natasha laughed and produced a tidily wrapped package from behind her back, in silver paper with a red-flocked pattern.

“Well, I happened to have made you something, and just put the finishing touches on it this morning, so I decided I couldn’t wait any longer to give it to you,” she said matter-of-factly, her grin happy and maybe just a little proud. Bruce was charmed, and took the package back to his seat.

“You made me something?” he asked, shaking the package curiously, only to get a muffled shuffling sound. Natasha rolled her eyes and sat on his desk. 

“Would you open it already?”

“I’m savoring the moment,” he said with an amused huff, but slid his finger under the taped corner and unwrapped a lidded box. When he opened it, his hands hovered over the contents appreciatively.

_“Nat,”_ he breathed. “You _made_ this?” Bruce carefully lifted a sweater out of the box, neatly folded and knit of the most buttery soft, lavishly indulgent cashmere he’d ever felt. The fine knit was exquisite, and the heathered taupe tasteful and subtle. The collar unbuttoned halfway with carved wooden buttons, and the collar, cuffs, and hem contrasted nicely in a soft cream. Bruce laughed; it even had supple leather elbow patches. 

“I did,” Natasha said proudly. Bruce couldn’t stop touching the fabric; the tactile perfection made him groan and press the sweater to his lips just so he could feel it better.

“Nat, I don’t- I don’t know what to say, this is so extravagant,” Bruce said, noticing that the knit smelled faintly of Natasha’s perfume. He looked up at her with deep gratitude. “Thank you,” he said softly. “Why?” Natasha just reached down and patted his knee. 

“I just wanted to make you something special. You deserve a treat now and then too, you know,” she said, and slid back off the desk. “I know you’ve been busy, but I hope I get to see you in it sometime soon.” Bruce nodded, still rather in shock, still rubbing the fabric between his fingers. 

“I will, I mean. You will. It’s delightfully professorial,” he said, grinning stupidly when Natasha kissed his cheek.

“Well that’s the look I was going for. The Big Nerd pattern was all out of stock,” she teased, punching his shoulder lightly. Bruce snorted.

“I think I’ve got Big Nerd already on lockdown, at least according to Tony,” he said, and this time Natasha snorted.

“He’s the king of Big Nerds, and you know it. You’re just too nice to say it to his face.”

“You, on the other hand?” Bruce asked with a grin and an arched brow, and Natasha just headed for the door with one of her enigmatic smiles. 

“Bye, Bruce,” she sing-songed with a wink, and then she was gone and he was left staring at his perfect sweater for a full five minutes before it occurred to him that he could actually put it on. He immediately stood and shucked his sweater and shirt so that he could have the fabric right up against his skin, then pulled on the cashmere sweater slowly, savoring the touch and the precise fit. He looked at himself appreciatively in the reflection of the window, then settled back comfortably in his chair with a very contented sigh. He was still happily bundled in his cashmere when Clint knocked and walked in without preamble.

“What’s up, Doc?” Clint asked, chewing on the end of a Twizzler as he sat and spun around once in a rolling desk chair. Bruce rolled his eyes, the way he did every time Clint greeted him that way, which was more often than not.

“Do you really want to know?” Bruce said with a smirk, holding up his notebook, filled with calculations and analytics. Clint snorted.

“No way, man. You can keep that to yourself. I see Nat finished your sweater finally,” he said, pulling another couple Twizzlers out of his pocket and offering one to Bruce, who took it, beaming. 

“Clint, it’s amazing, feel it,” he said, holding out his cuff, the end of the candy hanging out of his mouth. Clint obliged, laughing.

“Trust me, I’ve felt it. She’s gonna make me one next, but at least you didn’t have to beg her. It looks good on you.” Bruce looked down at himself.

“It fits perfectly, and she didn’t even have me try anything on,” he said curiously.

“Jarvis took scans of your body and drafted a pattern for her. Sneaky sneaky, J,” Clint teased at the ceiling, waggling a Twizzler at a vague upward location where everyone collectively established Jarvis to exist.

“I assure you it was for a good cause,” Jarvis replied smoothly, and Bruce nodded.

“Have to agree there. So what are you doing up here?” Bruce asked, and Clint grinned widely.

“As it so happens, I made you something, too,” Clint said, unwinding a string of beads from his wrist, pooling them into Bruce’s palm, letting the beads click together like a rosary. Bruce held the string up, the cool stones slipping between his fingers. They were deep purple, hand-knotted, in a loop with a large turquoise and gold bead and a tassel hanging from the end. 

“Are these-?” 

“Mala beads. I made it myself. They’re chevron amethyst on silk thread, and the guru bead is Mojave turquoise. They’re to help you meditate,” Clint said. Bruce just gaped at the very touching and valuable gift. 

“I know what Mala beads are, but these, Clint, they’re beautiful,” Bruce said, delighting at the way the beads felt in his hand. Clint beamed at him.

“I know that for a scientist, you have a bizarre appreciation for all that mystical shit, so I did a little research. Amethyst is supposed to be calming and bring emotional stability and inner strength, and help with depression and anxiety and nightmares and insomnia,” Clint said, ducking his head a little. “And the turquoise, well. It looks pretty, but it’s also your birthstone.”

Bruce was moved at the intimately personal nature of the gift, and was wrapping it around his wrist when Clint said the last part. 

“My birthstone?” he asked, then narrowed his eyes. Had he been working that hard that he forgot? “Jarvis, what’s the date?”

“December 18th, Doctor,” Jarvis replied. “It is, in fact, your birthday.” Bruce stared at Clint for a moment, then laughed, his eyes crinkling up.

“Is that what today is going to be? The parade of birthday gifts?” he asked, and Clint just spread his hands and grinned. 

“Hey, Tony said you wouldn’t want a big fuss or a surprise party,” he said, and Bruce just shook his head at his beads with a self-deprecating smile.

“Well he’s not wrong. Thank you, Clint. I really appreciate this. It’s a lovely gift,” Bruce said sincerely. Clint smiled and stood, offering Bruce another Twizzler and taking one himself. 

“Happy birthday, Bruce, I hope it’s a great day,” Clint said sincerely, giving Bruce a one-armed hug and leaving the rest of the pack of Twizzlers on Bruce’s desk before heading out. Once he was gone Bruce had Jarvis call Tony, who was mysteriously “out.”

“Tony,” Bruce said, playing with the tassel on his beads with a small smile.

“Bruce,” Tony said, an obvious smile in his voice, and background noise as though he was driving.

“So you told them I wouldn’t want a big fuss, hm?”

“And was I wrong?”

“No. And yet people keep showing up with these incredible gifts.”

“Hey! Gifts are allowed. I make the rules, and the rules say that gifts don’t fall under the qualifier of ‘Big Fuss.’”

“Well still. I’m.” Bruce started, then cleared his throat. “See you tonight?” He could hear Tony’s soft laughter over the car noise.

“Of course. I might even be planning a Small Fuss,” he teased. “I have to go, I’m about to get on the highway and there are stupid drivers who need to be verbally corrected.” Bruce rolled his eyes fondly.

“Don’t create a PR mess, please. I love you, Tone, I’ll see you tonight.”

“I love you too. And Bruce?”

“Yeah?”

“Happy birthday, honey. I hope it’s a good one.”

Bruce smiled and settled more deeply into his cashmere. 

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said, disconnecting the line.

Bruce just sat there in silence for a moment, almost feeling a bit of shock at how much his life had changed in just a few years. He looked around his comfortable office, with its stacks of paper, oversize sofa for naps, and his map of the world that was crowded with push-pins to denote all the places he’d visited or lived. It was a quiet reminder of how far he’d come, and how not every push-pin was a bad thing. 

He brushed his fingers over his sleek computer that Tony built for him, his desktop wallpaper a photo of him, Tony, and their friends all smiling and laughing together. Tony was kissing his cheek, and Steve giving him bunny ears. No one was afraid of him.

Bruce brushed the soft collar of his sweater against his lips once more, then saved his work and closed his notebook. What the hell. It was his birthday; he didn’t have to work. Within a few minutes he was on the communal floor (having been told by Jarvis that he and Tony’s suite was off-limits), lying on the couch with a plate of leftover pizza sitting on his stomach as he flipped channels. He had just settled on a particularly stupid and entertaining-looking infomercial, when he heard a knock on the doorjamb.

“Bruce? Mind if I interrupt?” Steve said, a suppressed laugh in his voice as Bruce’s choice of entertainment. Bruce scrambled to mute the TV, putting his pizza plate on the side table and sitting up.

“Yeah! I mean, no! Come in,” Bruce said, wadding up his paper towel napkin and giving Steve a slightly embarrassed grin. “Sorry. I was just having a snack,” he began, and Steve just waved a hand and sat beside him.

“Say no more. I think the birthday boy can lay around with pizza all over him if he wants,” Steve teased, and Bruce just groaned and slumped, covering his eyes with one hand.

“Big Fuss,” he reminded Steve, who held up a disarming hand. 

“Nope, no fuss. Just a little something I found online,” he assured Bruce, setting a small, wrapped rectangle in Bruce’s lap and sitting back with an excited smile. Bruce looked at the very pretty blue bow.

“Did you tie this yourself?” he said, his turn to tease. Steve smirked.

“There was a YouTube tutorial,” he said, then lightly kicked Bruce’s foot. “Quit stalling and open it.” Bruce did, and his mouth quite literally fell open when the paper fell away. It was a signed first edition of Carl Sagan’s Contact.

“Steve-“ Bruce whispered, turning the book over in his hands, reading the inscription, touching Sagan’s words. I looked up at Steve with wide eyes. “A little something you found online?” he choked. “This had to have cost a fortune, Steve, I can’t-“

“Ah-ah, no takebacks,” Steve said, pushing the book back into Bruce’s hands when he held it out to Steve. Bruce just stared down at the book.

“This was my favorite book,” he said softly, touching the cover. “It came out when I was sixteen and I read it over and over, imagining that I was Ellie...” he said softly. “I already loved science. This made me love it more. Made me look up at the stars and hope.” Bruce held the book to this chest and looked up. “Thank you, Steve.”

“You’re welcome,” Steve said, squeezing Bruce’s shoulder. 

“How did you know I liked this book so much?” Bruce asked, furrowing his brow. Steve just laughed softly.

“Tony _might_ have mentioned something in passing ages ago, and I just filed it away in case of emergencies,” he said, and Bruce laughed.

“In case of a birthday emergencies?” he asked.

“Just break the glass,” Steve said with a grin, and pulled Bruce into a hug. “I know you’ve probably got a dozen copies, but I thought this one would be a little special. I’m glad you like it, and I hope you have a happy birthday. I hear Tony as a thing planned.”

Bruce pulled away and gave Steve a suspicious look. 

“What kind of thing?”

“I don’t know. I guess you’ll have to tell us about it tomorrow,” Steve said with a secretive smile, getting up and heading for the elevators. “Happy birthday, Bruce.”

“Thanks,” Bruce called after him, mystified at the generosity his friends showed him today. He forgot about the TV and was a few chapters into his book, when Thor announced himself by way of calling Bruce’s name from the other room. 

“In here!” Bruce called back, and Thor rounded the corner, unabashedly holding a moderately sized carved trunk in front of him. 

“Ah, my friend! Tony tells me that today is the anniversary of your birth,” Thor said with a beaming smile, and Bruce couldn’t help but return it.

“It is,” he confirmed, wondering not for the first time what it was about Thor that made him feel so warm and relaxed in his presence. 

“Then I have brought you a gift from Asgard,” Thor declared, setting the trunk on the coffee table with a heavy thunk. Immediately Bruce was keen, reaching out to touch the carvings on the box. Anything from Asgard meant science, magic, whatever they chose to call it, and Bruce was already brimming with curiosity.

“What is it?” he asked, thinking the box was the gift, but then Thor opened it, and Bruce looked in, frowning in confusion. There was a large, delicate glass bottle, and several wooden trays filled with hundreds of intricately carved, tiny wooden pieces. 

“I suppose you would call it a ship in a bottle,” Thor said, pulling out the glass bottle. “But when the majestic ship is constructed and the bottle sealed, a mighty tempest erupts inside and the ship sails the waves of the storm for eternity.” Bruce’s eyebrows shot up.

“How?” he asked. 

“Magic,” Thor said, winking at him. 

“Oh, please,” Bruce said, rolling his eyes, then he looked at all the parts, no instructions to be found. “How do I start?” 

“I had hoped that we could build it together,” Thor said, obviously looking forward to the prospect. Bruce couldn’t stop smiling, eager to spend time with his friend and figuring out how the ship worked. 

Within minutes they were settled cross-legged on the floor, the trays of parts scattered across the coffee table. They talked of news from Thor’s home, mused about Tony’s plans for the evening, laughed about the latest gossip rags, and Thor marveled, appropriately impressed, when Bruce showed him the lavish gifts that he’d received so far. 

A pleasant afternoon passed beside the fireplace, and within a few hours, the skeleton of an extraordinarily detailed Viking ship began to take form under their hands. Thor’s touch was delicate and Bruce’s eye sharp, and he grew more and more excited to see the finished project. It would take several more enjoyable afternoons such as this to finish, and when the last hint of sunset began to turn the snowfall a dusky, golden pink, Bruce nestled the skeletal ship in the chest.

“Tomorrow then?” Thor asked, clapping Bruce on the back, his hand nearly spanning Bruce’s shoulders. Bruce laughed, stumbling under the friendly blow, and straightened his glasses.

“Sounds great, Thor. Thanks again, this is really wonderful. Not just the ship, but the company, too,” he said, and Thor beamed. 

“It is well, then. Enjoy your celebration with Tony, and I look forward to the morrow. Goodnight, my friend!” Thor said, waving as he left Bruce to himself.

Bruce wrapped his arms around himself and leaned back against the couch, smiling and feeling like his heart might burst out of his chest. He was already overwhelmed by kindness, and he hadn’t even seen what Tony had planned yet. He unwrapped the mala beads from around his wrist, and looped the strand between his fingers. He counted each bead, using his thumb to pull the strand over his palm, one bead at a time. He didn’t even meditate or repeat a mantra to himself, but just closed his eyes and reflected on his wonderful day. It was dark before he was interrupted by a gentle clearing of the throat.

“Hey there, honey,” Tony murmured, and Bruce looked up to see Tony smiling at him in the most adorably love-stricken manner, which immediately made Bruce blush. 

“Hi, Tone,” Bruce said, making to get up, his eyes on the enormous bouquet of creamy white, delicate pink, and vivid magenta peonies that Tony carried. Tony held out a hand, helping Bruce up, and gave him a sweet kiss. Bruce melted against him, and slipped his hands under the hem of Tony’s soft, black sweater. Tony smiled against his lips.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart. I see our friends have risen to the occasion,” he murmured, and Bruce took the gorgeous bouquet, buried his nose in it appreciatively, then set it aside so he could wrap his arms around Tony’s waist. 

“And I’m sure you had nothing to do with it,” Bruce said with a smirk. Tony looked positively innocent.

“You said you didn’t want a big fuss. No fusses were made,” he said with doe eyes, and Bruce laughed.

“It was the perfect amount of fuss,” Bruce assured him, taking his time with another kiss, then another, until Tony pulled away, slightly breathless.

“Okay, okay, you’re skipping steps,” Tony said, waggling a finger at Bruce, grinning widely when Bruce squeezed Tony’s ass with a wicked little laugh.

“I’d apologize, but I’m not sorry,” Bruce said unrepentantly, then picked up the bouquet and sniffed it again, closing his eyes and touching the delicate petals with his fingertips. “This is lovely, hon. Thank you.” He knew better than to ask where Tony found peonies in the dead of winter, because Tony could probably procure the moon for Bruce, if Bruce asked for it. Tony took Bruce’s hand and pulled him toward the elevators.

“Tis only the beginning, my sweet,” he said proudly, leisurely kissing each of Bruce’s fingertips while they waited on the elevator for their floor. Bruce burned with curiosity. When Tony actually remembered special occasions, he was an utterly hopeless romantic. Hell, he was a romantic about everything, really. Right down to being Bruce’s knight in armor.

When they got to their penthouse, Bruce didn’t notice anything different at first, other than a delightful aroma of food, the sound of soft music, and a warm, flickering light. Then Tony led him to the roaring fireplace, and Bruce laughed quietly.

“You didn’t,” he said, putting his flowers in a vase that was helpfully perched on an end table. Tony beamed and spread his arms.

“Bed picnic for two,” he said proudly. A thick mattress sprawled on the floor in front of the fire, completely engulfed by plush blankets and squashy pillows in silky fabrics and attractive prints. It looked like heaven to lie on. Beside the bed was tray after tray of an amazing spread of food. Tiny, one-bite sandwiches and fancy salami with elegant little pots of gourmet mustards, and grapes and olives and peppered melons and roasted figs with soft, sweet cheese and dainty crackers, and a small skillet on a tray filled with what appeared to be melted chocolate and marshmallow, accompanied by graham crackers and sliced strawberries that were sweet enough that Bruce could smell them from where he stood. A lovely teapot nestled in a knitted cozy, candles glowed everywhere, and in the middle of the bed rested a small envelope addressed to Bruce in Tony’s neat draftsman’s lettering.

“Tony, this is beautiful, this looks so… sumptuous,” Bruce breathed, stepping towards the spread, only to be stopped by Tony, who hooked a hand in Bruce’s waistband and pulled him back. 

“Well, there are rules to bed picnic, one of which means you’re wearing entirely too much clothing,” Tony said, turning Bruce in his arms, and slipping his hands under Bruce’s cashmere sweater to help him get it off. Bruce obliged, feeling doted upon and lavishing himself in the feeling for as long as he could. 

Tony smoothed his hands over Bruce’s chest, leaving a trail of kisses and goosebumps in their wake. Bruce bent his head to kiss Tony’s temple, eliciting a soft smile from him as Tony undid Bruce’s pants, slowly exposing his body and kissing him everywhere. 

“Tony…” Bruce breathed as Tony pressed lingering kisses to Bruce’s hip bones. “We’re not going to get to our picnic if you keep on like this…” Tony slowly kissed his way back up to Bruce’s lips, silencing him as he undressed himself and sighed when their bodies touched warmly. Bruce wrapped Tony in his arms, and Tony tangled his fingers in Bruce’s hair, smiling against his lips.

“All right. Enough of this, or we’re going to end up skipping to the end,” Tony whispered, although they didn’t stop kissing for a full five minutes. Finally Tony pulled away and his lips were pink and Bruce had a fledgling beard-burn, and they laughed and nuzzled as they fell into the bed. Tony sat up and positioned himself so that Bruce could face Tony and sit between his legs, Bruce’s legs wrapped around Tony’s waist, so they could kiss between bites. Tony reached for the small, red envelope and put it in Bruce’s hand.

“A tender missive for my beloved,” Tony said, and Bruce blushed delicately as he opened the envelope and pulled out a letter written on Tony’s luxurious linen stationery. Bruce read the letter slowly, savoring every word, while Tony waited patiently with a besotted expression. 

_My Bruce,_

_I know that you know that I’m a sarcastic dick like, 98.3% of the time, and I know that you know that that’s more of an armor for me than the Iron Man suit. I don’t know how you wormed your way around the 1.7% weakness in my firewall, but you did, and I never knew how much emptiness that 1.7% held until you came and filled it all up._

_You’re a sarcastic dick too, and I love that about you and I love that you’re such a stealth fucker about it too, pretending to be shy and quiet, then dragging bitches over cereal like you’re commenting on the morning news. I love how you squirm yourself in between me and whatever I’m working on so that I have to ~~stop and pay attention to you~~ stop and eat and look out the damn window for once. I love the way you lace our fingers together when we watch TV and how you’ve converted me to that disgusting green tea slop that you drink, I love how you give me goosebumps every time we touch and the way you look at me when you think I can’t see._

_You make my life better, and make me better, and yeah, I know that I’m writing a love letter to you and so far it’s been all about me. But you’re a beautiful man, inside and out, and have taken my breath away so many times I’m surprised I’m still alive. You have so many demons that the weight would destroy anyone else, but you hold them like Atlas holds the world. Your strength amazes me, and yet you still have some to spare to keep me from flying too close to the sun._

_You make me laugh more than I think I’ve ever laughed in my life, shown me what it means to really love, be loved, and be in love, and taken me on an adventure that I never want to end. You humble me in your selflessness, although I know as soon as you read that, you’ll give me that look over your glasses because you don’t think it’s true. You are so deeply loved, so passionately cherished, and so endlessly precious to me that any pathetic love letter of mine is paltry, compared to the intensity with which I love you. I love you. I love you. I value you. Bruce, I can’t ever say it enough._

_I love you._

_So obviously I’m rambling at this point because that’s a thing I do. And in conclusion, I even tried my hand at one of those dumb poems that’s been all over the internet lately. Don’t you dare fucking judge me. I’ll still love you, but you’ll have to kiss my tender feelings better and that might interrupt our bed picnic._

_In times of strife_  
_My head hangs down_  
_I lose mine light_  
_My world is frown_  
_But one is near_  
_Who takes my noose_  
_I love him dear_  
_I kiss my Bruce_

_Forever and utterly devoted,_  
_Your beloved Tony_

Bruce’s mouth fell open and to be honest, it was a little hard to breathe. Tony was intense all the time, in every word and action and emotion. And this was no different. Bruce was overwhelmed by the outpouring, and he took a shaky breath.

“Oh. Oh… _Tony…”_ he breathed, holding the letter to his heart, looking up at Tony, who goddammit, looked as bashful as a teenager on his first date. 

“Yeah?” Tony whispered, and Bruce surged forward, kissing him ferociously. 

“I’m not selfless,” Bruce murmured against Tony’s lips, and Tony laughed quietly, pulling Bruce closer. 

“See? I knew you’d say that.”

Bruce pulled back, wiping an eye, but his expression held that little spark of sarcasm that Tony apparently loved so much.

“Only you would write a love letter calling the recipient a dick, and somehow still sound romantic,” he said, and Tony winked.

“The accomplishment of a true wordsmith, if I don’t say so,” he said smugly, and Bruce rolled his eyes.

“No. _Don’t_ say so. But Tony?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you. So much. I mean, I just… thank you…” Bruce murmured, skimming over the letter again, before tucking it into the envelope with care. Tony took it and laid it aside on the coffee table.

“Speechless gratitude was all the repayment I need,” he teased, squirming when Bruce tickled his ribs in retaliation. They wrestled boyishly for a few moments, then settled close again, kissing lazily until Bruce’s stomach rumbled. Tony pulled back, half-lidded, and licked his lower lip as he poked Bruce’s belly.

“Guess we’d better do something about that, it might wake the neighbors.”

“Gonna feed me, Tone?” He asked, only half-joking, but the loving look in Tony’s eyes caught him.

“Yes,” Tony said simply. “You’re not going to want for anything tonight, sweetheart.” He spread a cracker with soft cheese and a roasted fig, holding it to Bruce’s lips. Bruce held Tony’s eyes, but accepted the bite. He chewed and swallowed, Tony wiped a crumb away from Bruce’s bottom lip, and the moment was sweet in its loving simplicity. The atmosphere, always shifting, settled into a wash of warmth that enveloped and isolated them from the world. 

Bruce reached for a tiny sandwich, offering it to Tony, who opened his mouth obediently, his hands skimming Bruce’s waist. They fell into a quiet, close rhythm, feeding each other bites, kissing away crumbs, murmuring soft approval of the food and sharing stories about their days. They laughed gently at a dot of marshmallow on Bruce’s nose, and fell silent when Bruce licked sugar from Tony’s fingertips, watching as Tony tucked his chin and blushed delicately, the way he only did for Bruce. 

The act was so simple; sharing warmth and touch and feeding each other delicious foods, whispering together as lovers, surrounded by plush pillows and flickering golden firelight.

It was intensely intimate. Bruce found himself humbled. 

“Tony, this is all so beautiful,” he whispered, their foreheads touching and hands resting at each other’s hips. Bruce was loath to speak too loudly and ruin the perfect, almost magical ambiance. Tony smiled just a bit, moving his hands so that he could run his hands over Bruce’s chest. 

“I know you didn’t want a party, although I would have thrown you one fit for Page Six,” Tony said and Bruce snorted softly.

“I would have loved you for it and hated every minute. This was just right.”

“Let the record show that I nailed it, as the kids these days say.” 

Bruce covered Tony’s hands with his own, stealing a lazy kiss. 

“So now what?” he asked, his smile innocent, but his eyes devilish. Tony grinned wickedly and shifted, pushing Bruce back into the pillows and sprawling over him. 

“So now we get to the good part,” Tony purred, straddling Bruce’s hips. “You know, I never thought I’d fall for such a majestic mane of chest hair,” Tony teased, and Bruce smirked. 

“Well you know what they say about chest hair,” he said cryptically. Tony narrowed his eyes. 

“What?”

“It’s good for traction,” Bruce finished, moving quickly and pulling Tony down against him, rolling so that they were on their sides, pressed together on all sides by pillows. Tony laughed and flailed then finally settled, before nuzzling under Bruce’s chin to pepper kisses along his collarbone. 

“I’m only letting that one fly because you’re the birthday boy,” Tony murmured, and Bruce just huffed a little breath, craning his chin slightly to give Tony better access. 

“Mm, another ensnared by my dry wit,” Bruce hummed, sliding his thigh over Tony’s hip, so that they were fully pressed close and it became intimately clear what they planned to do next. 

“Honey, you had me at ‘achieving heavy ion fusion at any reactor on the planet,’” Tony said, and Bruce remembered their first meeting on the helicarrier with a little bit of embarrassment and a lot of fondness.

“Lame,” he sighed into Tony’s shoulder, sliding his hands lower, his eyes closing. Tony moved against him, and Bruce’s breath hitched. 

“Tony, I want you to know that-“

“Shhh. Best birthday ever, I love you so much, you’re the paragon of masculinity, I think I got the general gist,” Tony murmured, nibbling at Bruce’s shoulder and tangling his fingers in Bruce’s hair. Bruce grinned, sighing deeply and leaning into Tony’s touch.

“Shut up,” he murmured. 

“I love you too, sweetheart.”


End file.
